


Cataclysm In Repose

by coffeecrowns



Category: Leverage
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Parker is Autistic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecrowns/pseuds/coffeecrowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three billionaire, hyper-competent geniuses with PTSD fall in love, steal things for fun and cope with PTSD. Not in that order. </p><p>OR: about 1k of super self-indulgent self-care, comfort, and maple syrup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cataclysm In Repose

_1._

For once, Alec would like to wake up without gasping for air. The first time he launched himself out of bed, it was funny, so funny even it knocked him out of his panic. The second time, after he could laugh. After that, not a chance.

 

He’s sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. He wants to make a snappy comment, he wants to say something, anything to get Parker and Elliot to go back to sleep. But instead he’s too scared to breathe.

 

The lights turn on, Parker, and Elliot is sitting in front of him, not too crowd his sides, not like under ground.

 

“Hey, none of that,” Elliot says, voice soft and low. “Look at me.”

 

He does, stares right into the blue eyes. This is why Elliot has to do this part. The eyes crinkle slightly, happy, proud even. He tries to smile back, but it comes as more a grimace.

 

“Breathe with me,” Elliot says. He can do that. He can so breathe. Parker has plopped down making them a slightly misshaped circle, maybe a triangle, their little constellation. He reaches out a hand and she takes it.

 

“Focus over here babe,” Parker says. He’s drifting slightly. Damn.

 

“Its four am,” Elliot says, and he realizes he’s spoken aloud.

 

Its not like flipped a switch and bam, he’s back in his body, but his realization of it comes between heartbeats, their loud in his ears then suddenly, fallen back in line. Like his body has realized the false start and finally gets the memo out.

 

“Okay,” he breathes out. Elliot looks at him with slightly more skeptical eyes, and he meets them. That’s another step in this dance.

 

Parker stands with him, never pulling him, not at this time.

 

“Middle or edge?” She asks, staring at the bed. He considers for half a moment, and then decides,

 

“Edge.”

 

“Good, I want middle,” she smiles.

 

“The lights can go off again,” He tells Elliot.

 

They curl back up, Parker holding his hand and Elliot’s eyes fixed to top of his head. He’s safe, he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

 

No more dreams tonight, and he smiles.

 

_2._

At first he doesn’t believe Elliot only sleeps an hour and a half. He’s right, sort of.

 

On his own, its averages out to almost four, with them he gets up to seven or eight. After a long job, he passed out for a solid thirteen. Hardison played the Hallelujah chorus very softly for the last three hours.

 

And then every year, April and August it falls dramatically. It would be easier if it were nightmares. They have like twelve different nightmare contingency plans and they’ve only needed to use seven. (Well they have thirteen, but they avoid talking about it lucky thirteen. It’s ingrained in their hindbrains, but they’ve never had to use it, and speak of the devil and all that)

 

No, instead, Elliot basically stops sleeping. He sleeps enough to not pass out, but the hypervigalence kicks in, and by the time they notice the first time, Elliot is seeing things that aren’t there.

 

He’s diffused less stressful bombs.

 

Once Elliot’s eyes stop looking quite so wild, they’ve convinced him that he’s safe, he's here. He’s pretty out of it, and never remembers it, but the last thing him and Parker hear before Elliot passes out is, “Thought that last time, worked out fine,” in such a sarcastic tone it almost seems like everything is fine.

 

They sit on either side of Elliot on the bed, holding hands, saying nothing. They joke later its Parker’s ideal date. Four hours later, they talk it out. Elliot does that thing with his chin and his eyes and his hands where tears should fall but they don’t.

 

Yeah sometimes Elliot only sleeps an hour and a half but never when they can help.

 

3.

 

Out of all them, Parker finds the lack of dichotomy between the PTSD and the autism the most frustrating. Is she trigged? Is everything too much? Is talking just not on the right side of possible? None of them know. Lucky for them, Parker's self care looks mostly the same for any of the above. 

 

Doesn’t matter really. Elliot buys blackberries and Hardison breaks out the “Okay” Disney movies not the “Currently Working Through” pile. Parker takes out the weighted blanket from the coffee table/footstool/storage. They play footsie and don’t talk much and it’s just a good time.

 

They’re billionaires with PTSD. They can take all the time off they want.

 

4.1

 

Something’s aren’t discussed. Elliot methodically makes them try every vegetable known to man, and a few only known to Elliot. Except cauliflower. It doesn’t enter the brewpub, it doesn’t enter Elliot’s kitchen.

 

“Well, clearly you’ve eaten it, so why is it a problem?” he asks when Alec brings it up.

 

“I just want to know if there’s a story there.”

 

“There is a story, not worth telling.” Elliot does the thing with his eyes that scares most people but Alec just wants to come closer. His boyfriend is adorable and capable of mass destruction. It’s the best combo.

 

He hugs his love and Elliot softens against him, he knows he made a good choice.

 

4.2

 

Alec can do elevators. He can do the walk in freezer (mostly). He can (generally) do the linen cupboard. He _enjoys_ his time in Lucille. Then he accidentally locks himself in the bathroom for his shower, his too small, too hot, reduced visibility bathroom, after his shower. He panics. Elliot breaks the door down. Parker holds him for a solid hour after.

 

The solution to this is very clearly a dramatic increase in shower sex.

 

4.3

 

There’s a scattering of fast food places in half a dozen cities across the US Parker won’t enter. Mocha’s are a no, hard stop, always. Jazz is generally regarded as terrible. Simple, universal truths. Parker likes to set the boundaries, create her lines in the sand, and if she doesn’t want them questioned, her boys won’t. They’ll just kiss her check (Hardison) and her forehead (Elliot), accept it, and move on with their day. God, she loves them.

 

5.

 

They end up in Canada on the fourth of July for three simple reasons:

 

1) General dislike of explosively they aren’t setting off

 

2) Avoiding drunk, overly patriotic Americans with the aforementioned uncontrolled explosives

 

3) Motherfucking maple syrup

 

They’re in Quebec by the 3rd of July, and they get exactly thirty seven hours of sightseeing (determining price points of buildings and statues), touring (actively planning how to steal priceless pieces of the Canadian history right in front of them), and eating crepes and  having Elliot critique them (exactly that).

 

Then halfway through hour thirty eight, some kids joke about the National Syrup reserve and “How Canadian Can We Get!?” jokes and suddenly Elliot has started laughing at his phone.

 

“They say it’s the Fort Knox of Canada!”

 

Long story short: its even easier than cracking Fort Knox, Hardison is kissed repeatedly by both his lovers in baby level Fort Knox, surrounded by vats of Maple Syrup, Parker is dangling from the ceiling, Elliot almost punches an honest-to-god Mountie,  and everything is great.

 

A few months later, they send the corporation a letter on the thirteen ways they planned to break in. This is probably going to be a yearly tradition, and they wouldn’t want to get bored.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "his passivity was not that of a hero taking his ease but that of a cataclysm in repose", who makes me want to write Magic Realism. Maybe. 
> 
> Also what the fuck is this story. 
> 
> Also I was planning on writing a big thing on competency porn (my true kink lol) but I am Canadian and writing even fictional attempts to break into the National Syrup Reserves feels like treason. Sorry.
> 
> Also I've done a lot of research on autism, but I am not on that spectrum, so please let me know what you think!!


End file.
